MTV News Break
by SouthernChickie
Summary: Sequle to 'The Dangers of Holy Ground' The year is 1998, Richie Ryan's life had never been better. . . until he died. Now everything has to change. Now Complete.
1. Rock Legend

Disclaimers: The second I don't do this is the second I get sued. Highlander and what not belong to the Highlander people and so on and so forth. I also don't own, Tiger Beat, Bop, or Teen magazines. And in case you're keeping track you can add E! Entertainment Television, MTV, Ninja Turtles, the states of Washington and Texas, the country of Scotland, any professional musicians I may mention or interview, and the Grammy awards to the list-'o-things-I-don't-own-and-am-just-using-to-write-a-story-for-the- entertainment-of-others.  
  
Author's note: This is the last story in my little AU that I've been working on. ('Hidden Secrets', 'Rule Number One', and 'The Dangers of Holy Ground' all lead up to this, in that order. I suggest you read those first.) I kept getting all these ideas for scenes that I wanted to do, but I couldn't come up with an actual plot to take place before 1998. . . so in this story we jump all the way from 1993 to 1998 in the life of my favorite pre-immortal Richie Ryan. But don't worry, this is told along with a series of flashbacks so you won't miss out on any details, all will be revealed. This way I get to use the idea I've been leading up to this whole time, and use all the little scenes I kept coming up with. Well, I'm done rambling so here we go.  
  
P.S. PLEASE REVIEW!  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*June 30, 1998, 7:30 PM Seacouver Stadium, Seacouver, Washington*  
  
"Richie! Richie! Richie!" the crowd chanted. The lights dimmed and the arena filled with screams of anticipation. Without warning, sparks shot up from the foot of the stage and from behind the light, seemingly out of nowhere, a lone man appeared on stage.  
  
"What's up Seacouver?!" he yelled. The audience screamed and applauded in response. "I thought so! Man, it's great to be home." The audience quieted a little. "I missed Seacouver." The screams erupted again. "Never thought I'd say that." He was grinning from ear to ear. "I actually missed the rain. I spent the last two weeks in Texas, no rain. Very confusing. I'm kind of glad that I'm done with this tour. I don't want to leave!"  
  
Richie Ryan looked out over the crowd. This was his last concert, not just for this tour, but forever. Little did his fans know he was scheduled to die in a week. 'Well, die publicly,' he thought. He had already died, four months ago. And that was why he had to stop doing what he loved. The life of a Grammy-winning pop star was not the life for a new immortal. So, July 9, 1998 was to be the last the world would hear from Richie Ryan.  
  
He had fought long and hard with Duncan and spent many sleepless nights on the phone with Rylan. He didn't want to quit, he had worked too hard and too long to get where he was to just die and drop out of sight. But his options were limited and the arrangements were made: Next Thursday he was going to die in a boating accident just around the cove from Andrew's Beach.  
  
"Okay, well you guys aren't here to listen to me ramble, you're here to listen to me do my thing aren't you?" More screaming. "That's what I thought! I also thought, in honor of being home. . .I'd start with a little something I used to do to pass the time and make a little extra money in Highcliff Park." He waited for the screaming to stop. "Who knows, you might have heard me there. You might have even paid for dinner that night. Here we go!" He cupped his hands around the microphone and held it against his mouth. "Prepare yourself, it's the human beatbox. Frrh ticky ticky ticky. . ." Richie broke into the beatbox routine he had been doing for over nine years.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan watched from the wings as Richie bounded across the stage.  
  
"I wish you well,  
  
I wish you love,  
  
I wish myself all of the above!"  
  
Duncan could barely hear the end of the song over the audience. He couldn't help but feel guilty for what he was forcing Richie to do, but it was the only solution for the time being. As he listened to Richie tease the audience he remembered the frantic phone call he had gotten.  
  
*February 19, 1998*  
  
Duncan answered his cell phone. "Hello?"  
  
"Mac?"  
  
"Hey, Rich, how are you doing?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I'm panicking here." Richie's voice squeaked.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Mac, I died," he whispered.  
  
"What!"  
  
"I think, I'm immortal."  
  
"Where are you? I'll come meet you."  
  
"We're flying to New York in an hour. We should land around eleven tonight."  
  
"I'll leave as soon as I can."  
  
"Hey. . .Mac?"  
  
"Yes, Richie?"  
  
"Did you know?" There was a pause. "Mac?"  
  
"Yes, I knew. . .the whole time," he answered softly.  
  
"I thought so. I'll see you in New York."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Author's note: Those three lines of lyrics came from the song "I Wish You Well" from the Josie and the Pussycats soundtrack. And if you want to hear Richie's beatbox, all you need is "Justine [Timberlake]'s Human Beatbox" from the NSYNC HBO Special. It's really good. 


	2. Fears of the Past

Author's note: I got the strange feeling people thought that this story was over. Well, sorry to disappoint you but there's more here and more on the way.  
  
*1998*  
  
"Maybe we should tone it down a bit," Richie panted, "I'm getting too old for this." He sprawled himself on the stage. "A had been at 23, welcome to the music world," he laughed.  
  
"I love you, Richie!" a fan's scream sounded over the dull murmur of the crowd.  
  
"Right back at ya, babe." The girls screamed excitedly. Richie laughed. "I will never get tired of that. I wish it had been like that in high school." He rolled onto his stomach and scanned the first few rows of the audience. "Wait a minute, I know you," he pointed out a red-haired girl in the front row. "Weren't you in Dallas last night?" The girl started crying and nodded. "So you came again?" She nodded. "Come here, I want to talk to you. Somebody get her up here." With the help of a security guard the girl made her way onto the stage. Richie pushed himself into a sitting position and motioned her down next to him. "I'm to dead to stand," he explained. "So, hi. I'm Richie," he said pleasantly shaking her hand. She started sobbing. "Wow, um, okay. So this is where you tell me your name." He shoved the microphone under her nose.  
  
"Laney," she choked out.  
  
"So, Laney, where you from?"  
  
"Fort Worth."  
  
"Is that around Dallas?" Richie asked happily carrying on the conversation almost oblivious to the crowd not twenty feet away.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then maybe I should explain the water falling from the sky. Its called rain. And it's perfectly safe." She laughed. "So did you win a radio contest?" She nodded again. "How old are you?"  
  
"15"  
  
"15 treated me pretty well," he commented. "What's your favorite song?"  
  
"You Don't See Me."  
  
"Aren't you a little young to like the old songs?" he did some quick mental math. "Oh, well I guess 12 isn't too young. Stay right there." His energy apparently back, he jumped up and jogged up stage, grabbed his guitar, and sent a back-up singer to get a marker. He returned to Laney and sat back down. "Here, you hold this," he handed her the microphone. "I need both hands. I'm going the acoustic route," he added looking at his bad. "So you guys can just chill for a minute."  
  
Duncan smiled from the wings; this was one song of Richie's he would never forget.  
  
* September 3, 1993: the Antique Store*  
  
Richie had been acting strangely for almost a month. He had become very eager to help, he took over the kitchen and made dinner nearly every night, and did whatever was asked of him without a single complaint. Out of nowhere he had become very compliant. For the first couple of weeks Duncan brushed it off as maturity, but when Richie stopped following Duncan when he went to face other immortals, Duncan knew something was wrong. So he kept a watchful eye on Richie. And soon discovered the problem.  
  
"So do you think it's a good idea?" Duncan asked Tessa softly.  
  
"I think we should tell Richie now, he seems to be on to us." She answered sternly.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Ever since you started hinting about moving, he's been acting funny. Like he has to prove his worth to us."  
  
"He has not." Duncan insisted. Richie stuck his head in the office door.  
  
"How does manicotti sound for dinner?"  
  
"Sounds great." Duncan said. Richie smiled and headed for the kitchen. "See? He's just being nice."  
  
"He has always been nice. But, how often did he cook before?"  
  
Duncan frowned, "Fine, I'll go talk to him." Duncan found Richie in the kitchen boiling water and talking to Rylan.  
  
"Angie too?" he was asking. "Man, that sucks. What is she going to do?"  
  
"She's moving in with Gary until she can find her own place."  
  
"What's wrong with Angie?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Her mom kicked her out," Rylan explained.  
  
"Said she was too old," Richie added.  
  
"How old is she?"  
  
"Just a couple weeks older than me. She turned nineteen last Friday. And then her mom just said, 'Move on, kid'."  
  
"You can take care of yourself at nineteen," Duncan said casualy. Richie's face paled.  
  
"Not really," Rylan contradicted. "Who takes a nineteen year old seriously?"  
  
"A lot of people. I'm willing to bet Richie could take care of himself if he needed to. Not that he wil- -" He trailed off as Richie mumbled something and brushed past him. "What'd I do?" he asked Rylan.  
  
"Good one, Duncan," she rolled her eyes.  
  
"What? What just happened here? Why is he so- - -"  
  
"Duncan, think about it."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie heard Duncan give the doorhandle a tentative turn to check if it was locked. But, Richie had been in too much of a hurry to get away to stop and turn the lock, so Duncan entered the bedroom and found Richie sitting cross-legged on his bed with his back to the door.  
  
"Hey, Rich." Duncan greeted lightly stepping into the room.  
  
"What?" he snapped, turning his head to make sure Duncan couldn't see his face.  
  
"What got you so up- - -are you crying?"  
  
"No." Richie answered thickly wiping angrily at his cheeks. "There's just something in my. . ." he sighed. "Maybe a little." He dropped his hand back into his lap but kept his face turned.  
  
"You want to talk about it?" Duncan asked not quite sure what to do, he had never seen Richie cry before.  
  
"It's nothing, it's stupid, just forget about it," he mumbled feeling as uncomfortable as Duncan did.  
  
"If it's nothing, how can it be stupid?"  
  
"Mac, just leave me alone," Richie said looking up at him with watery, pitiful, pleading eyes.  
  
"You don't look like you want to be alone," he said softly sitting on the bed.  
  
Richie remained silent and continued to look at him, but didn't move to get away. Duncan looked at the wall and waited. He knew from experience that if he waited long enough Richie would start talking, just to end the silence.  
  
"Ever since I was thirteen, I've never lived in the same place for over a year." He started so quietly Duncan almost didn't notice. "By that time, people had either gotten sick of me, or found another kid. Sometimes I'd come back from school and my bags would be packed. It was always a nice subtle way of saying 'Move on, kid'." Richie stopped and looked at Duncan trying to read his face, then continued. "You see, I gave up on trying to be charming and cute when I was eleven. Because by then there was always somebody cuter and younger there to take my place. I kept telling myself 'Just wait until you're eighteen, then it's all you'." He took a deep breath. "So I never got attached. I was just kinda there. I don't even remember most of their names." He stopped and traced the design on his bedspread, waiting for Duncan to respond. But Duncan didn't say anything, so he took it as a sign that he should continue.  
  
"I guess that's when Rylan and I became so attached. Or when I really started relying on her to be there. I could always be myself around her. I didn't have to worry about making a good impression or anything. Then you guys came along. And there was something different." Tears began falling more persistently down his cheeks. "It's like there was this weird connection, drawing me here. Telling me to stick around. I didn't want it, I didn't want to get attached to anyone, I didn't want to feel anykind of bond, but it was there. Eventually I gave up on fighting it. I let myself get drawn in, get comfortable, drop the act." He stopped again and waited a few seconds before continuing.  
  
"Then Rylan came along. Don't get me wrong, I was just as excited as she was when you guys asked her to stay. But now," his voice cracked, "now my year's almost up. And I can't keep myself from making her that younger, cuter someone. And I keep seeing Tessa's face when the judge granted custody. And I keep expecting. . . but. . ." He sniffled a couple times and sighed. "I've always been a firm believer that if it's too good to be true, it is. And. . .and you guys are the greatest thing that ever happened to me." He finished softly looking away.  
  
"You were expecting us to kick you out, like Angie's mom?" Duncan blurted finally making the connection.  
  
"It's not like there's some kind of legal document saying I have to stay. And you keep talking about how crowded it is. . ."  
  
"You're right, you don't have to stay. But you did for awhile. . . there were papers. You're just too old now."  
  
Richie turned to face Duncan. "What?"  
  
"You were still seventeen when you moved in," he explained. "It was only for a couple of weeks, but it had to be legal. I never told you because you didn't seem like you would be very happy about it. If I had known it was important to you I would have said something. That's part of why Tessa wanted to sign for Rylan. She wanted to be able to take you two and leave if things got out of hand. . .and I was the one who got you." This time Duncan waited for Richie to say something, then continued.  
  
"And you're not exactly the bane of my existence, you know. Sure, I get mad at you and we fight. But it's because I don't want anything to happen to you. I just want to keep you safe." He took a deep breath. "Immortals can't have children. I think that's the biggest thing Tessa had to give up to be with me. I didn't realize how much I missed my father until I started getting questions on what to do with you. . .I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't know much about teenage boys." Richie smiled. "I miss that father/son connection, I haven't had it for over three hundred years. But sometimes, at the strangest times, I feel like I almost have that with you. I'm not going to push it, because I don't know how you feel. And I can't speak for Tessa, but she's never said 'no' when someone asked if you were her son."  
  
Richie looked away, then looked back with a confused expression. "People actually ask that?"  
  
"Yeah, every now and again." Duncan answered. "So is that why you were acting so strangely?"  
  
"You just lost me."  
  
"You were acting weird because you were expecting 'Move on, kid'?"  
  
"Guess so," Richie shrugged. "But it sounds pretty stupid now."  
  
"So what are we going to do about dinner?" Duncan asked changing the subject to something they were both more comfortable with.  
  
"You figure it out. I need a minute."  
  
Richie didn't come out of his room for the rest of the night. He would talk to whoever came in, but he would always go back to his guitar. What came out was one of the most heart-felt songs he ever wrote.  
  
*1998*  
  
"Okay, it's been a while, but I'll give this a shot." Richie mumbled and began to play the intro to the song. Before he started to sing he locked eyes with Duncan and gave him a grin. Duncan smiled back.  
  
"This is the place where I sit  
  
This is the part where I love you too much  
  
This is as hard as it gets  
  
'Cause I'm getting tired of pretending I'm tough  
  
I'm here if you want me  
  
I'm yours you can hold me  
  
I'm empty and achin' and tumblin' and breakin'  
  
'Cause you don't see me  
  
And you don't need me  
  
And you don't love me  
  
The way I wish you would. . ."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Disclaimers: "You Don't See Me" is from Josie and the Pussycats. I couldn't help it, I heard the song and it made me cry and I had to use it. This isn't the entire song (obviously) but I plan on using the rest of it later on in the story. 


	3. Death Becomes Him

A quick note to the reviewer known as simply 'me': Yes this is an Alternate Universe story. If you want complete understanding to where all this is coming from I suggest you read 'Hidden Secrets' 'Rule Number One' and 'The Dangers of Holy Ground'. However, if you don't feel like reading all three stories I strongly suggest you at least read 'Hidden Secrets' (no worries, it's really short) to at least know how all this started. But thank you for keeping an open mind about my story, even if it threw you off a little. Sorry about the confusion!  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie paid the taxi driver, picked up his bag, and happily trotted up the front walk. 'Home again, home again, giggidy gig,' he thought with a smile. He couldn't remember where he had heard that, but somehow it always popped into his head when he came home. He remembered when Duncan and Tessa had bought the house, back in '93. A week before his nineteenth birthday, and a month before they got married. He had been so excited. He had never lived in an actual house before, he had never lived outside the city before, and he crossed both off his list in one swoop.  
  
He had noticed that there were no cars in the driveway and assumed that Duncan and Rylan had gone to pick up Tessa at the airport. He unlocked the front door and let himself in. He stood in the foyer for a minute and decided to walk through the house and just look around. Everything was the way he remembered it. The living room was still far too stuffy for his liking, the den was still a mess of high tech entertainment equipment with the inviting smell of freshly baked cookies wafting in from the kitchen. Richie grabbed a couple cookies off the plate on the island before taking his bag upstairs.  
  
He opened the door to his room and laughed. Although he had cleaned it up before he left, his bed was unmade, there were shoes in the middle of the floor, and there was an empty glass sitting on the night table with a note propped up on it. He picked it up and read:  
  
'You were never one to be neat, so I thought I'd make it feel more like home. I'm sure you already found the cookies, but if you didn't they're in the kitchen.  
  
-Rylan'  
  
He dropped his bag on the floor and crossed the hall to her room opening the door without knocking. The light was on, but there was nobody there. He reached to turn off the light and noticed a note taped to the switch.  
  
'You didn't think I'd make it that easy for you, did you? Nice try. Close but no cookie.'  
  
"Ry, I swear, sometimes you are the strangest person I know," he mumbled thinking of where to look next. "The cookies." He turned and trotted down stairs to the kitchen. He rounded the corner and spotted a blue piece of paper lying on the counter next to the plate.  
  
'You're getting warmer. . . or maybe I just left the oven on.' He opened the oven only to find 'Made ya look!'  
  
"You have to make everything difficult, don't you?" He asked the notes. "Where else is there?" he thought for a moment. "Basement." He answered himself.  
  
Richie slowly descended the wooden staircase and took in everything around him. The walls were still bright red, but it looked like they had been freshly painted, the posters of his favorite bands were still on the walls with the addition of a 'RICHIE RYAN WORLD TOUR' poster that he assumed Rylan had put up. In the corner stood the guitar and keyboard Duncan and Tessa had gotten him for Christmas six years ago along with the drum set he had gotten the next year and the bass guitar he had bought. The track lighting he had installed himself was lighting up the makeshift stage. He slowly walked over and stood amid the instruments. It felt strange being back in the basement. He had spent countless hours there over the years writing and practicing, pretending that when he sang he was on a real stage singing to thousands of people. But, now that he had done it for real, he almost wished that he could go back to just pretending. It was easier to imagine what it would be like forever, then to know and have to give it up.  
  
"I see how it is," a voice scoffed from the shadows. "Are you just going to ignore me or do I at least get a hello?"  
  
"I guess I could at least say hello, but that might be all you get." He said with a smile.  
  
"You are a horrible, mean, spiteful person Richie Ryan." Rylan pouted.  
  
"Me? What about all this crap? You make me run all over the house just to- -" she gave him no time to finish his sentence before throwing herself into his arms.  
  
"Just shut up and say hi." She said.  
  
"Hi." He answered hugging her. When she let go he held her at arm's length and looked her up and down. "I see college life is treating you well." He commented guiding her over to the couch that faced the stage.  
  
"I'm just glad it's almost over." She settled herself on the couch across from Richie and studied him carefully.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know, I was expecting you to look different, or something, I guess."  
  
"Different how?"  
  
"I don't know," she shrugged, "more. . . immortal. You never told me, you know."  
  
"Told you what?"  
  
"How you, um. . ." she cleared her throat, "How you died."  
  
"Oh, I was wondering when you were going to ask about that," he said looking at his shoes.  
  
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she rushed out. "I was just curious."  
  
"No, it's fine. I don't mind."  
  
*February 19, 1998: Rural Nebraska*  
  
Richie sped around the curve. It was times like these he as glad he insisted on taking his motorcycle with him on tour. Sometimes he had to get away. And there was something about the seemingly endless miles of country road; he couldn't resist a midnight ride. The crisp winter air whipped around him, through him, energizing him, begging him to go just ten miles further. Who was he to deny Mother Nature what she wanted?  
  
'Over the bridge and back,' he told himself spotting a wooden bridge straddling a creek. 'Over the bridge and back,' he repeated over and over in his mind. He looked at the patches of snow scattered in the fields on either side of him as he charged down the road. As he approached the bridge he groaned, 'over the bridge and back' he reminded himself, 'over the bridge and - - maybe there's another bridge a little further up the road. . .'  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie's lungs burned accepting and rejecting the sudden intake of air. He groaned and opened his eyes trying to remember what had happened. He sat up and pulled off his helmet.  
  
"What happened?" he asked looking around. "Aw man, no!" he got to his feet and ran to his bike. "No! No! No!" he walked around his bike, and the tree it had wrapped itself around. He tugged lightly on the handlebars only to have them come off him his hands. Rubbing his stiff neck, he slowly walked back to where he had landed counting out fifty-three paces. He looked confusedly at the puddle of blood on the ground.  
  
"Where did. . ." it was then he realized his jeans were stiff. He looked at his legs and squinted in the dim moonlight. His jeans had become much darker than when he had put them on that morning. "Oh, no. No way!" he looked between his bike, the blood and his jeans. "No! No! No! No! No!" he stomped his feet. "Why?" he whined. "Why? Why? Why? How can this be happening?" He dropped to his knees and pounded the ground with his fist. "This isn't happening," he decided. "You've had this dream before. And even if this isn't a dream, there has got to be some explanation other than. . ." he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. "I gotta call Mac." 


	4. Close Incounters of the Immortal Kind

Rachelle Ryan: I always hated that Tessa died. Quit frankly it pissed me off, I liked her. And I couldn't bring myself to let her die again, so I figured if Richie doesn't die, Tessa doesn't die! But then I couldn't resist killing Richie, seeing as he's immortal and looks so cute with a sword, so this was the solution I came up with. I'm glad you approve. : )  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*February 20, 1998: Madison Square Garden, New York City*  
  
Richie sat on the edge of the stage sipping from a bottle of water ignoring the soundmen yelling back and forth across the stage. Suddenly he felt a strange surge of energy and a distant feeling a dread resonated in the back of his mind. Not sure what was going on, he looked at the people around him to see if anyone else felt it. Everyone was busily preparing for that night's performance.  
  
"Hey, Richie."  
  
Richie jumped and looked behind him. "Oh, hey Jean."  
  
"I didn't mean to scare you," she sat next to him. "You mind?"  
  
"Terribly," he answered with a smile.  
  
"So are you as bored as I am?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," he drawled. His back stiffened and he began looking around again as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.  
  
"Do you feel okay?" Jean asked looking concerned.  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah I'm fine. I just feel like somebody's watching me, and it's driving me insane," he quickly explained.  
  
"You just look a little pale."  
  
"I feel fine."  
  
"I tell you what," Jean said with a smile. "If you don't want people watching you, we can trade. I'll sing lead and you bang the drums."  
  
"Works for me," he shrugged. The feeling of dread evolved into a strong feeling of danger and Richie swallowed hard. 'Immortal!' his head screamed. 'Immortal! Sword, I don't have a sword! I'm screwed!'  
  
"Who's that?" he heard Jean whisper. Hastily he looked where she was pointing and spotted two men in long coats walking toward them.  
  
Richie relaxed a little and smiled. "I'll be right back." He jumped off the stage and made his way towards the men, meeting them halfway. "Hey, Mac." He greeted cheerily giving Duncan a hug.  
  
"Hey, Rich. How are you feeling?"  
  
"I'm alive aren't I?" Richie shrugged.  
  
"I see the lad kept his sense of humor." Connor said smiling. "I was planning on surprising you tonight after the concert, but Duncan called and told me what happened." He explained shaking Richie's hand.  
  
"It's fine." Richie assured him. "I was pretty much expecting you show, too. Although, did you have to show up together? That whole vibe thing's pretty strong."  
  
"Vibe?" Connor questioned.  
  
"Yeah, you know. Immortal radar, whatever you want to call it."  
  
"Oh, that," he smiled. "Get used to it."  
  
"Hey, Ryan! Get your skinny little butt up here!" Somebody yelled.  
  
"Okay!" Richie called back. "You guys sticking around?" he turned back to Connor and Duncan. " 'Cause there's food and all sorts of stuff backstage if you want."  
  
"Yeah, we're going to be here." Duncan answered.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
* 1998*  
  
Rylan whistled between her teeth, "What a way to go."  
  
"You're telling me." Richie leaned back into the couch feeling a lot more at ease than he was expecting.  
  
"Things have been pretty quite around here." Rylan commented absentmindedly after a short pause.  
  
"Oh, yeah?"  
  
"Well, since I got home from school it's just been me and Tessa. So, you know, no nightly fights to entertain us."  
  
"Mac and I aren't that bad. . . are we?"  
  
Rylan snorted. "Uh, yeah you are."  
  
"No, we're. . ." he trailed off and went to the base of the stairs.  
  
"Is it Duncan?" Rylan whispered.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Motioning for her to stay put he slowly crept up the stairs. 'It's gotta be Mac,' he assured himself. 'Who else would it be?' He peeked through the curtains of the living room window at the unfamiliar car parked on the street. 'Then again he has a lot of scary immortal friends that tend to show up uninvited.' Quickly he bounded up the stairs two and three at a time to his room. He drew his sword from its hiding place in his duffel and went back down. Somebody was banging impatiently on the front door.  
  
"MACLEOD!" They yelled.  
  
Richie gulped and stared at the door trying to figure out what to do. Whoever it was obviously knew that he was there, but they didn't know that he wasn't a four hundred year old seasoned immortal. On the contrary, he was a twenty-three year old who hadn't the slightest clue about what to do in an immortal battle. Richie cast a glance to his right at Rylan who had wondered up from the basement and was now looking between Richie and the door from across the foyer. He waved his hand at her to go back downstairs, she shook her head no.  
  
"MacLeod, I know you're in there!" The person outside yelled through the door.  
  
Straitening his shoulders a little, Richie walked to the door and slowly turned the lock. Taking a deep breath, he threw the door open and jumped back holding his sword in front of him.  
  
"Nice to see you, too, kid." The man on the doorstep greeted him with a cocky smile. "I didn't scare you, did I?"  
  
AN: Guess who it is! I'll give you a clue, he was recently on an episode of "The Dead Zone" (which I do not own, by the way.) 


	5. Invasion

Richie tried to glare or make some kind of an angry face, but he was too relieved and embarrassed not to relax and chuckle.  
  
"You son of a - - -"  
  
"Ah, ah, ah!" the man interrupted. "I'm one enemy you don't want to make."  
  
"Hi, Adam," Rylan said appearing behind Richie.  
  
"Ah, the beer wench." Adam greeted her stepping into the house and closing the door.  
  
"Ah, ha! You're funny," she scoffed. "You want a beer, you get it yourself."  
  
"Very well, then. I guess we won't be needing your services." He hooked his arm around Richie's neck and led him to the kitchen. "I understand Thursday's the big day." He popped the tops of a couple of beers and handed Richie one.  
  
"You say that like it's a good thing."  
  
"My, my. Gotten used to the spotlight have we?"  
  
"Yes, we have. And we like it." Richie retorted bitterly.  
  
Adam laughed into his beer. " 'Hello world, here I am.' That's not a very good frame of mind for an immortal. Maybe you should try something more along the lines of, 'Just passing through.' "  
  
"Aw, come on, you sound just like Mac. Where's the harm in one more tour, just a couple more years having fun while I can? It's not like I have much time left with this anyway. The music business it thickle, for all I know this time next year my career could be over."  
  
"So why deal with the failure?"  
  
"Because music is what I do, it's what I've always done. I want to do it while I can."  
  
"Sounds reasonable enough." Adam commented.  
  
"So you agree with me?" Richie asked excitedly. He knew Rylan and Tessa did, but having another immortal backing him up might be what made Duncan change his mind.  
  
"I see where you're coming from," Adam corrected. "I also see where MacLeod is coming from. And don't even ask, I'm not getting involved. This is between you and him."  
  
"But- - "  
  
"You and him," he repeated firmly. "My opinions have their place, and this is not it. I'm sure the beer wench will argue on your behalf."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes; he hated it when he called Rylan that. "Me and him, my butt. As far as he's concerned we're back to square one: he makes all the decisions and I tag along like some kind of lost puppy or something."  
  
"Have you ever tried talking to him? As stubborn as MacLeod is, he's a reasonable man. Explain to him what you just explained to me."  
  
"Are we talking about the same MacLeod here?" Richie put his beer down. "He doesn't listen to me. He never has, and probably never will. But if you talk to him. . ."  
  
"No. I'm not getting involved. And he doesn't listen to me, anyway."  
  
"Sure he will, Adam. At least- - -"  
  
"If he had listened to me you wouldn't be in this mess." Adam interrupted.  
  
"What?"  
  
"When you first started this whole music thing I told him to stop you, because something like this could happen. But he didn't listen to me. He made up his mind to support you and let you go on with it. And look what that got him, an angry spoiled kid who wants what he wants when he wants it."  
  
"Hey! I'm just trying to- - -"  
  
"Shh." Adam interrupted putting his hand up.  
  
Richie's eyes narrowed. "What is. . ." He cut off as a swell of energy washed over him.  
  
"You expecting someone?" Adam asked moving toward the front door.  
  
"Mac," Richie answered following him.  
  
"Can't be. I just talked to him, Tessa's flight was delayed."  
  
Richie looked out the window. "There's nobody there. . .well, somebody's there but I don't see them."  
  
"I hate playing games," Adam mumbled opening the door. "Stay," he ordered over his shoulder.  
  
Richie closed the door and leaned against it. "Like I said, a lost puppy." He heard the back door open. "Adam?" he called out tentatively, realizing he had left his sword in the kitchen.  
  
"Richie?" a voice answered.  
  
"Connor?"  
  
"And Amanda," a female voice added.  
  
"And Joe," added a third.  
  
Richie sighed and went back into the kitchen and found Joe, Amanda, Connor and Adam waiting for him.  
  
"Hey," he greeted.  
  
"Hello," Amanda gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You look a little pale," she commented.  
  
Richie smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. "You guys scared me a little, that's all. I wasn't expecting everyone to just show up. Next time call or something."  
  
"Adam, was supposed to tell you," Joe said throwing a glare at the ancient immortal before giving Richie a hug.  
  
"It must have slipped my mind," Adam answered with an innocent smirk.  
  
Amanda giggled, "Adam, how mean. Tell me you at least called before you arrived."  
  
Adam chuckled, "Now why didn't I think of that?" he said as the phone began to ring.  
  
Richie reached for it, but the ringing stopped before he could answer. A few seconds later they heard Rylan thundering down the stairs.  
  
"Hey, Rich, Duncan want to. . ." she trailed off as she rounded the corner and was greeted by a kitchen full of immortals and Joe. "Hey," she greeted them in surprise. "uh, here, it's Duncan." She handed the cordless phone to Richie. "Geeze, you leave two immortals alone for too long and they begin to multiply," she mumbled to herself going to the refrigerator.  
  
"Hey wench," she turned to face Adam, who shook his empty beer bottle at her.  
  
"Any one else?" she asked. No one accepted. She pulled out two beers and handed one to Adam. "I'm going to have to start charging you." She sat next to Connor at the table.  
  
"Why does he call you wench?" he asked.  
  
"Because," Richie answered for her hanging up the phone, "Two years ago, on Halloween she found this peasant costume and made the mistake of helping Joe out for a couple of minutes because he's waitress was late. Adam's called her 'the beer wench' ever since."  
  
"It reminded me of the good old days," Adam shrugged.  
  
"How can you let him get away with that?" Amanda asked her. "Stand up for yourself."  
  
"Don't worry, I'm plotting my revenge. What did Duncan want?" She asked Richie changing the subject.  
  
"He was wondering about dinner. I told him I was planning on making pot- stickers and some other stuff, but since everyone showed up. . ." Everyone in the kitchen, excluding Adam who was happily downing his beer, looked expectantly at Richie.  
  
"But what?" Rylan asked.  
  
"Well, there's not enough for eight. I'd have to go to the store, and who knows how long that will take. Then by the time I got back. . ."  
  
"I'll go, just tell me what you need. I've been eating way too much of Tessa's cooking." Rylan got up and searched for paper and pen. Richie rattled off a list and she wrote it all down. "Okay, let me get my keys and I'll be back in twenty minutes."  
  
"I'll go with you," Amanda offered. "Adam too."  
  
"Adam, too?" Adam repeated suddenly drawn into the conversation.  
  
"You need any help?" Joe offered Richie.  
  
"Uh, not now. What's everybody so excited about?"  
  
"I don't know about them, but I think it's about time we had some decent food around here." Joe explained.  
  
"Oh, okay." Richie blushed at the complement. 


	6. Return to Normalcy

Somehow Richie always managed to be the center of attention. When he came home he was hoping for everything to be normal, like it had every other time. This time, though, was very different: Tessa and Amanda were actually getting along, there were no off the wall story competitions with each immortal trying to out do or embarrass the others, people seemed to be going out of their way to treat him normally, which made it all the more obvious that things weren't normal. Just the fact that so many people were there wasn't normal. Usually there would just be one or two people besides Duncan, Tessa and Rylan home when he had a chance to visit. And Rylan wasn't there half the time because of school. But it seemed everyone Richie knew was there this time.  
  
'Too many people!' Richie's head screamed at him as he settled in the living room with everyone else after dinner. 'Get away! Go somewhere! Disappear!' He wanted nothing more than to run away and hide somewhere nobody would find him. But seeing as he was attached in some strange un- understandable way to all but three people in the room with him, that didn't seem very possible. So he tried to content himself with ignoring what was going on around him, which isn't a very easy thing to do when you are the topic of conversation. 'Think of something else, anything else, just. . . something! I take this anymore!' his mind raced. 'Somebody's touching me, why is somebody touching me? WHO IS TOUCHING ME!' Richie shook his head and found himself being tugged to his feet by Rylan.  
  
"Come on," she was saying.  
  
"What?" he asked, trying to sound casual.  
  
"Come on, we're going." She continued to pull and soon had him in the hallway.  
  
'Yes! Freedom!' he cheered inside while he remained calm on the outside. "Where?"  
  
"I don't know," she shrugged pulling her keys out of her pocket and handing them to him. "You just look like you need to be alone. So, I propose you drop me off at the park I'll hang out there for a while and you can go where-ever."  
  
"Why so secretive, why don't I just leave?"  
  
"It seemed like the natural thing that would happen. They would get wrapped up in one thing or another and we would go. And since you looked like you were about to scream in there, and I was bored out of my mind I decided to get both of us out."  
  
"Okay," Richie conceded. "Just let me get a couple things."  
  
"Got it covered." Rylan picked up a bag from the corner by the door. "Pens, your spiral, taperecorder, and a couple sodas. Did I miss anything?"  
  
"How do you do that?" Richie asked taking the bag and slinging it over his shoulder.  
  
"That's what happens when you know someone for almost eighteen years," she explained with a smile opening the door. "Ladies first."  
  
"Oh, I missed you sense of humor."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Two hours later, Richie picked Rylan back up and by the time they returned to the house he felt he was ready to face to world again. But that didn't keep the feeling of relief from him when he went into the living room and found only Duncan and Tessa.  
  
"There you are!" Tessa greeted him as he entered the living room. "How about a proper hello this time?"  
  
Richie wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her into the air and spun around. "That better?" he asked putting her back down.  
  
"Yes, now let me get a good look at you." She stepped back.  
  
He held out his arms for inspection, "Haven't changed."  
  
"Yes you have. There's something different. . ." She reached out and lightly squeezed his arm. "That's it. You've been working out, bulking up."  
  
"Maybe a little. Mac has been working me pretty hard," he shrugged. "Some how I ended up with a personal trainer instead of a friend."  
  
"It's for your own good." Duncan said taking a playful swig at him, which Richie easily blocked. "See? Faster reflexes already."  
  
"I just got tired of you clocking me every time you thought I wasn't paying attention."  
  
"Still, faster reflexes."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Mac."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*Thursday July 2, 1998, the Abandoned Warehouse*  
  
Richie desperately blocked one blow after another as Duncan forced him across the warehouse floor.  
  
"Concentrate, Richie! Keep your sword up!"  
  
"I am!"  
  
Metal clashed against metal as their swords repeatedly met in a mock battle to the death.  
  
"Attack me, vary your speeds, don't get into a rhythm."  
  
"Well, maybe if you'd stop attacking me, I could try."  
  
"An opponent isn't going to give you a chance, you have to make it for yourself. Keep your sword up!"  
  
"Mac, you're killing me! I can't breath."  
  
"Use it."  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean!?"  
  
Duncan reached out and grabbed Richie around the wrist pulling them together.  
  
"If you go up against somebody better than you, you have to use everything that happens to your advantage. Right now, you're getting angry and sloppy. I could have taken your head four times by now. Channel your anger, control it, don't let it control you." He pushed Richie away. "Now, attack me!"  
  
"Mac, I gotta take a break." Richie panted.  
  
"No." Duncan swung his katana over his head and lunged at him, forcing Richie to block the attack. They began fighting again. Richie let out a small yelp as he felt the blade of Duncan's katana rip into his shoulder. He immediately stopped and looked disbelievingly at the man who was supposed to be teaching him how not to get hurt.  
  
"What the hell did you do that for?" he demanded.  
  
"You left yourself open, you have to keep your sword up."  
  
"You could have just told me."  
  
"I did. Maybe this way you'll remember." 


	7. Suprise! You died

Richie stormed through the back door immediately followed by Duncan. Both men were sweaty and sore from their training session, and both were very angry with the other.  
  
"Richie, what's wrong?" Tessa asked as he yanked the refrigerator open. "What happened to you?" She looked at his blood stained shirt and still bleeding calf.  
  
"Talk to your husband," he spat. "He seems to be pretty omnipotent today."  
  
"Duncan, what did you do?"  
  
"I didn't do anything that didn't need to be done," Duncan answered flatly. Richie snorted and began chugging a bottle of water. "If you don't listen, the lessons are going to be a little harder," Duncan snapped at him.  
  
"So are the punches." Richie shot back.  
  
"If you'd just pay attention to what I tell you, I wouldn't have to be so rough."  
  
"I think I've listened to you enough for one lifetime."  
  
"It's going to be a pretty short lifetime if you think that you're ready to go out there and be immortal on your own."  
  
"So what, I'm supposed to, like, depend on you to make my decisions for the next hundred years, or however long it take me to become as good as you think I should be?"  
  
"With the way you retain instruction it'll take at least that long for you to remember to keep your sword up!"  
  
"And to never over-extend my thrust because it leaves me venerable and off balance," Richie added. "Still think I don't listen? Well, I do. I probably hear a lot more than you think I do."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Bite me."  
  
"Richie!" Tessa scolded. "Calm down, Duncan is helping you."  
  
"He's helping me alright, helping me into early retirement."  
  
"Don't start that again," Duncan groaned. "We've been over this. You can't learn how to use a sword in a hotel lobby."  
  
"So I take a breather, go on hiatus or something."  
  
"And have the tabloids full of pictures of you looking like this? How do you plan on talking your way out of those situations?"  
  
"Man, do you have any idea how much this sucks?" Richie kicked the wall. "Just when stuff really starts working for me. . . Surprise! You died."  
  
"Another classic example on how Richie Ryan pays attention so well," Duncan mumbled.  
  
"It was dark! How was I supposed to see the ice?" he defended.  
  
"And I'm sure you weren't speeding either."  
  
"Oh, get off it."  
  
"Haven't I been telling you for years that if you weren't careful you were going to get yourself killed?"  
  
"Shut up, Mac. I'm not in the mood." Richie said turning to leave.  
  
"I don't care." Duncan grabbed his arm and spun him around. "You better learn to keep your attitude in check real fast young man, or your going to get into some pretty serious trouble."  
  
Richie glared at Duncan, "Should I be taking notes?"  
  
"Richard Ryan, you listen to me and you listen to me good," Duncan growled tightening his grip on Richie's arm. "That cocky attitude of yours is getting really old, really fast. It may have been cute when you were a kid, but it's not anymore. If you talk like that to other immortals your head will be gone before you can even blink. I can't jump in and save your butt anymore, if you piss somebody off you're on your own."  
  
"Just like old times," Richie sneered. "I can take care of myself."  
  
"You sure don't look like it now. Do you remember how scared you were when Methos came by the other day and you were by yourself? You can't run and hide from an immortal like you used to be able to. You died, things changed, and you need to start accepting what you've done to yourself."  
  
"Don't you ever get sick of being older and wiser all the time?" Richie spat pulling himself free of Duncan's grip. "Just because you've been around for a couple hundred years doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do. If I need your help, I'll ask for it."  
  
"Oh, yeah, you're real good on admitting when you need help."  
  
"Like you said, things change. And I know when I'm in over my head."  
  
"I'll believe it when I see it. But for now, you need to- - -"  
  
"Mac, save your advice for someone who wants it, 'cause I sure as hell don't. I'm sick of you making decisions for me and pretending to be someone you're not. You're not my- - -" he stopped and took a deep breath. "Never mind, forget it."  
  
"I'm not what?"  
  
"I said forget it!"  
  
"No, Richie tell me, I want to know."  
  
"Duncan, drop it." Tessa interrupted forcefully, fully aware of what Richie had been about say. "Richie, go up stairs. Duncan and I need to talk."  
  
"Good luck," Richie snorted turning and leaving the kitchen.  
  
"Tessa, I know what you're thinking, but he needs to- - -"  
  
"Have time to feel like he has some control over what's happening to him. I know you're right. His temper has gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but he needs time to think. He has nothing to distract him now. Wait a couple of hours so both of you can cool down, then go talk to him. Don't yell, talk. And listen, and then come to an agreement."  
  
"Tessa," Duncan started to argue.  
  
"No. When you told me he was immortal for the first time, I stopped defending to him to you. I let you push him, and I let you yell, and I let you take control and tell him what to do. Now I am stepping in and telling you what to do."  
  
"So I'm just supposed to let him pout for an hour?"  
  
"Longer if he needs it. You have to stop treating him like he's a little boy. He may not be by immortal standards, but as far as he can tell, he's a man now. He's twenty-three and in need of a friend who can offer guidance, not an overlord. Now get out of my kitchen, I have dinner to prepare."  
  
"Let him pout, but stop treating him like a child? Isn't that a little contradictory?"  
  
"Out!" 


	8. And You Believed Me?

*January 1994*  
  
Duncan smiled and shook Richie's shoulder.  
  
"Ugh." Richie groaned but continued sleeping.  
  
"Hey, Rich, wake up."  
  
"Ugh." He insisted turning his face into his pillow.  
  
"Get up." Duncan shook his shoulder again. Slowly Richie pried open one eye and glared up at Duncan indignantly.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
"I though you were going to help me unpack all those boxes today."  
  
"Ugh." He rolled onto his back and slowly sat up mumbling.  
  
"What?" Duncan asked.  
  
Richie rubbed at his eyes and yawned. "I said, give me three minutes."  
  
"Do you feel okay? You sound a little congested."  
  
"I sound a little whated?" Richie asked stretching.  
  
"Congested. . . it means your nose is stuffy."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes, "I know what it means, I just didn't hear you."  
  
"Are you sick?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"You don't sound fine." Duncan reached out to feel Richie's forehead. "Do you have a fever?" Richie dodged Duncan's touch a few times before he finally got his hand on his face. "You feel warm."  
  
"I feel fine," Richie insisted.  
  
"Stay put." Duncan left the room and returned moments later to find Richie once again asleep.  
  
"Richie?"  
  
"Ugh."  
  
"Open up." Richie opened his eyes and looked at the thermometer in Duncan's hand.  
  
"You're kidding, right?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Aw, Mac com- - -" He was cut off as Duncan put the thermometer in his mouth.  
  
"No talking, unless you're willing to do this the other way." He said. Snorting in annoyance, Richie raised his hand in an obscene gesture to Duncan. "Hey watch your language, or I won't give to a choice on how we take your temperature."  
  
Tessa came in carrying a tray with toast and orange juice. "How are you doing?" she asked. Richie flushed and groaned pulling the blankets over his head. "Taking the mature approach I see." She laughed. The thermometer beeped from under the blankets and Richie's hand came out holding it in the air.  
  
"Happy now?" his muffled voice demanded.  
  
"Yes," Duncan answered. "102.7" he read. "You're sick." He pulled the covers off Richie's face.  
  
"Am not." He insisted squinting through the hair that had fallen into his eyes.  
  
"Fine, if you're not sick, eat." Tessa thrust the toast at him.  
  
"I will." He took a bite hoping to appease Tessa's maternal instincts enough for them to leave him alone.  
  
"All of it." She ordered turning to leave  
  
"I will."  
  
"We'll be back in a couple minutes to check on you." Duncan said following her out.  
  
"Can't wait." Richie drawled staring down at the unwanted toast in his hands. He could already feel his stomach turning from what little he had eaten. "No mas," he whined to himself suddenly remembering his high school Spanish. "No me gusta me." He continued dropping the toast on his bedside table. "Como se dice 'Kill me now' en espanol?" he wondered to himself turning over and trying to go back to sleep.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Tessa quietly opened the door and looked into Richie's room. Finding the bed empty she walked in. A muffled coughing noise alerted her to the bathroom. She pushed the door open and found Richie in front of the toilet wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
"Richie?"  
  
He looked up at her in disgust. "I hate you," he informed her. "You and your lousy toast."  
  
She put her hands on her hips. "You said you weren't sick."  
  
"And you believed me?" he quipped before vomiting again.  
  
Tessa filled a cup with water and handed it to him. "Rinse," she instructed. "Rylan and I are going out for the day, Duncan is going to stay and look after you."  
  
"Ugh." Richie replied from the floor. "It won't be very entertaining for him. I don't plan on doing much of anything."  
  
"Well that's good because he doesn't plan on letting you do much of anything."  
  
"Letting me?" Richie repeated. "I know how to be sick thank you very much, and I don't need any immortal throwing his two cents in."  
  
Tessa smiled. "Do you need anything before I go?"  
  
"Nah, I think I'll just sit here for awhile in case anymore of last night's dinner decides to visit."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*1998*  
  
Duncan looked down at Richie asleep on his bed, his hair still wet from his shower. He reached down and lightly shook his shoulder.  
  
"Hey, Rich, wake up."  
  
"Ugh." Richie slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Duncan. "What do you want?" he mumbled sleepily.  
  
"Dinner's ready."  
  
"Oh." Richie swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up.  
  
"Go ahead and take a minute to wake up. Rylan's still setting the table." Duncan turned and walked out of the room closing the door behind him.  
  
Richie stared after him, unable to say what he wanted to. He wanted apologize for acting like such a baby and blowing up at Duncan. He wanted to take back the words he almost said. He didn't know if Duncan really knew what he was about to say before Tessa stopped him, but he still felt bad for almost voicing them. As far as he could readily tell he meant them, Duncan wasn't his father. But deep down he knew that Duncan tried, even if he wasn't very good at it. Duncan felt more like a big brother, a big brother that was trying to fill a void left by Richie's father. A big brother that knew a lot more than Richie gave him credit for.  
  
Richie wondered down the stairs and into the kitchen just as Rylan was setting the last dish on the table.  
  
"Mornin', Sunshine," she smiled at him. "Make yourself useful and get the drinks, would 'ya?"  
  
"Oui mon capitan," he answered with a solute. "Smells great," he commented filling glasses with ice.  
  
"Thank you," Tessa said with a slight bow. "I made my famous- - -"  
  
"Call to the Italian place down the street?" Rylan interrupted.  
  
"Don't make me come over there." Tessa shook a wooden spoon at her.  
  
"Oh, I'm scared now. What are you going to do, spank me?"  
  
"I just might if you don't watch it." Tessa smiled wickedly.  
  
Rylan returned the look. "You'll have to catch me first."  
  
"Richie will help you, won't you?"  
  
"Gladly." He dropped into a chair and slung Rylan over his knee. "You ready?"  
  
"Agh! Let go of me!" she squealed as Tessa approached her with the spoon.  
  
"I'll teach you to make fun of my cooking." Tessa growled in French.  
  
"No! I swear I won't!" Rylan promised fighting against Richie's grip.  
  
"You promise?"  
  
"Yes! Let me go!"  
  
"Fine, Richie let her up."  
  
"That's no fun." He patted her on the butt before letting go of her.  
  
"You better watch it, I know where you sleep," she threatened.  
  
"I'll be sure to lock my door tonight. Where's Mac?" Richie asked, suddenly realizing he wasn't there.  
  
"Right here." Duncan said from the doorway. "I didn't want to interfere with any disciplining that might be going on."  
  
"Now who's pouting?" Tessa murmured to him as she passed.  
  
"I would have thought you would have wanted to at least help." Richie added dryly.  
  
"You're lucky Connor likes you so much," Duncan told him "Otherwise he might not let you get away with little comments like that."  
  
"Connor? What does he have to do with anything?"  
  
"I thought you said you listened."  
  
"So sue me, Mac, I'm a little lost. What does Connor have to with this?" 


	9. Too Late Now

*Thursday, July 9, 1998*  
  
"The rumors have been confirmed, singer/song writer Richie Ryan has died in a jet skiing accident in his hometown of Seacouver, Washington. Ryan had already been recording for his new album; there is no word on whether or not the recordings will be released. I'm Kurt Loder join us eight to the hour every hour for an MTV news break"  
  
Rylan changed the channel.  
  
"Witnesses reported seeing a small explosion when hometown hero. . . "  
  
She hit the channel up button.  
  
". reportedly ran his jet ski over submerged. . . due to the unusually rainy winter, rocks from the jetty on Andrew's beach had been submerged. . . started his career by competing in local battle of the bands. . . eleven top ten hits and three Grammys in four years. . ."  
  
Giving up she switched off the TV and got a beer out of the refrigerator. She turned on the radio.  
  
"Rebels are we  
  
Though heavy our hearts shall always be  
  
And no ball nor chain nor prison shall keep  
  
We're the rebels of the sacred heart."  
  
Richie's voice drifted through the speakers. She turned it back off.  
  
"Can't get away from him," she mumbled as the doorbell rang. "Don't want any." She opened the door. "Angie!"  
  
"Oh, Rylan, I just heard." Angie pulled her into a choking hug. "I had to come over and make sure you were okay."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Don't pretend, I know how close you two were. Rylan, I am so sorry, I don't know what to say."  
  
Rylan pulled away. "Angie. . . I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm just taking it all in right now. Do you want a drink? I could get you something."  
  
"Oh, no. I just wanted to stop by and see you. Call me if you need anything, or if you just want to talk okay?" She finished before a loud sob escaped her.  
  
"Angie. . ." Rylan's voice tightened. "Stop that." She started crying. "Geeze this is the last thing I need." She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Richie wouldn't want you to cry."  
  
"It always did make him act funny. . . " Angie laughed. "You know what? I don't think I ever saw him cry."  
  
"Come to think of it, I don't think I ever did either. In eighteen years, not once." Rylan sat down on the stairs. "Not ever, no matter what."  
  
"He was stubborn and prideful."  
  
"Yeah," Rylan whipped at her cheeks. "Damn, I feel stupid. What'd you have to go and start crying for, huh?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Green Day blared from Rylan's room.  
  
"Hey, Ry?" Richie opened her door. "Ry!" He called over the music.  
  
She jumped and looked up from her spiral. She reached over and turned down her stereo. "Sorry."  
  
"If you're writing, I can come back later," he offered.  
  
"No I. . ." she showed him the blank page. "I haven't written a word. I'm just trying to avoid all the, you know 'hub ub'."  
  
"What's wrong, you look like you've been crying." He sat next to her on the bed.  
  
"Angie came over," Rylan said softly. "She saw the news and wanted to make sure I was okay."  
  
"Oh," Richie said, not sure what else to say.  
  
"Needless to say, it was a little weird. And she started crying, then I started crying. . ."  
  
"That had to have sucked."  
  
"Yeah it did."  
  
"How long did she stay?"  
  
"Not too long." They lapsed into silence.  
  
"Amanda's here," Richie said suddenly standing up.  
  
"When did she get here?"  
  
"Now." He tapped his head with his finger and smiled.  
  
"Oh, so is she gonna. . ."  
  
"Yeah," he ran his fingers through his hair. "Take a good look, 'cause it'll all be gone the next time you see me."  
  
"No," she pouted fixing his hair. "You just got it the way I like it. And now you're going to screw it all up."  
  
"And I'm doing it just to annoy you."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
There was a soft knock on Richie's bedroom door.  
  
"Yo," he said.  
  
The door opened, "I assume that means 'come in'." Rylan closed the door behind her. "I just wanted to say good night. Still packing?" She looked at the clothes scattered across the room and the still empty suitcase on the bed.  
  
"Supposedly," he mumbled. "You know, you'd think I'd be better at this, but it still takes me forever."  
  
"So don't make it so complicated. Underwear, jeans, shirts, socks, problem solved." She started pull things out of drawers and putting them in the suitcase.  
  
"Over simplifier."  
  
"It works, doesn't it?" Next she began folding clothes from off the floor and soon she had packed for Richie. "See? All done."  
  
"Thank you, mommy," Richie said in his best little kid voice.  
  
"You're welcome, sweetie." She ruffled his hair and stopped, looking at the straight brown hair sticking up through her fingers. "I don't like it," she told him. "It's not you. It looks good, but I don't like it."  
  
Richie looked at himself in the mirror. "I kinda do. It's different. My hair has always been curly and blonde. This makes me look older."  
  
"How old do you want to look? You're only twenty-three."  
  
"Almost twenty-four."  
  
"That's almost twenty-five, which is a quarter of a century. . . you geezer!" she exclaimed in mock horror.  
  
Richie laughed, "Point made, but I still like it."  
  
"And I still don't."  
  
"When you get used to it you will."  
  
"No, I'll just be used to it." She took a picture off his dresser and showed it to him. "This is what I like, this is my Richie."  
  
He took the picture from her and looked at it. His twenty year old self and a eighteen year old Rylan smiled up at him, back to back in a two person rendition of the 'Charlie's Angles' pose. The picture had been taken when his hair was at it's longest, which wasn't very long, but long enough to flaunt the soft blonde curls that become his trademark in the music business. Looking at himself so happy and carefree, unaware of the hell his life would turn into in three years, just happy to be living the life he had always wanted made him want those days back more than anything else.  
  
"Things change," he snapped handing the picture back. "You want to past so much, you can keep it. But I'm telling you, your Richie's dead."  
  
Rylan looked up at him. "Chill, I was just sayin'. . ." she said softly, slightly off-put by his sudden burst of anger.  
  
"Ry, I. . . I'm sorry, okay?" he apologized giving her a hug. "You're the only person that's not making a big deal out of all this. You aren't the one I should be yelling at."  
  
"Don't worry about it," she said with a smirk. "You gotta take it out on someone. And you know me, always happy to help."  
  
"You want to help?" he asked as an idea popped into his head. "Then do something for me."  
  
"Sure, just tell me what."  
  
"I know this sounds stupid, but. . , stay with me tonight? One more time, for nostalgia's sake."  
  
Rylan cocked her head to one side. "You mean, like, sleep with you?"  
  
"Yeah, I know it's immature and everything, but. . . I don't know. I've been thinking about the stuff we used to do and. . . I just want things to go back to normal. If you don't want to I understand," he added quickly. "It was just an idea. . ."  
  
"Richie, shut up and turn the light off." She pulled the suitcase off the bed and flopped down in it's place. Richie flipped the light switch and slid next to her under the covers. Just knowing she was there made muscles he didn't know were tensed relax.  
  
"I don't like this," he said softly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Immortality, my hair, everything."  
  
"I thought you liked your hair," Rylan said, picking the least emotional topic.  
  
"I do, but I don't like why I did it. I don't want to be immortal, and I don't want to move to Scotland. . . it smells funny."  
  
Rylan laughed. "Did you just say Scotland smells funny?"  
  
"Well it does," he defended.  
  
"Maybe it smells better now."  
  
Richie sighed and rolled onto his side. "Maybe." Rylan forced him onto his back and turned his face toward her.  
  
"What else?" she demanded.  
  
"Nothing else."  
  
"That's a load of crap and you know it. So spill."  
  
"I don't like that everyone is moving because of me. I hate when people have to change to accommodate me. And now you're going to be stuck here by yourself. . ."  
  
"Don't worry about me. I'll have papers and tests to keep me distracted me from developing a complex. Senior year and all that comes with it. And I'm sure Duncan is just using this as an excuse to move back to Scotland, Tessa will be happy no matter where she is as long as she's got you and Duncan."  
  
"But what about Connor, huh? He's going there with me tomorrow, not Mac. He's the one that'll be teaching me until Mac can get there. Everybody is putting they're life on hold all because I skidding on a patch of ice and off a bridge. It wasn't even a very big bridge. . ."  
  
"Connor wouldn't be doing it unless he wanted to. Besides, I think it was his idea for Duncan and Tessa to stay longer."  
  
"But, still. I don't like it. I just want everything to go back the way it was."  
  
"Hate to break it to you, Rich, but it's too late for that." 


	10. The Letter

*July, 2, 1998*  
  
Duncan was sitting in an overstuffed chair going over some paperwork when Richie entered the living room.  
  
"Hey, Mac?" Richie asked quietly.  
  
Duncan looked up. "Yes?"  
  
"Can I talk to you for a second?"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"It's about earlier today."  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"I just wanted to say, sorry. . . 'cause I kinda flew off the handle and. . . yeah."  
  
"Don't worry about it."  
  
" 'Kay." Richie stood in front of Duncan and they lapsed into the uncomfortable silence that had become a constant in their relationship. "Well, that's all I wanted to say, so. . . I guess I'll just go now."  
  
"Wait, I want to ask you something."  
  
"Sure, what?"  
  
"What were you going to say before Tessa stopped you?"  
  
"Nothin'." Richie answered with a shrug.  
  
"You've been acting funny ever since then, so it wasn't nothing."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Mac." Duncan gave Richie a calculating look. "Mac, just. . . It was nothing."  
  
"What am I not?" Duncan asked. Richie looked away and shifted his weight. "You said I'm not something, what?"  
  
"My father. There I said it, you happy now?" Richie snapped instantly regretting it. "Mac, I. . . I'm sorry, okay? It's just, well, you're not."  
  
"I know I'm not," Duncan said.  
  
"Well, you sure don't act like it sometimes," Richie offered a shy grin.  
  
"Never noticed." The silence returned.  
  
"Look, Mac. I know you think I think of you that way and you wouldn't mind if I called you 'dad' everynow and then. . ."  
  
"What makes you so sure of that?" Duncan interrupted.  
  
"Because I know you, and you wouldn't mind. But, I would. . . You remember a couple years ago when I tried to find who I thought was my dad?" Duncan nodded. "Well, it got me thinking. Just because Emily and Jack weren't my real parents, doesn't mean I don't have parents out there somewhere. I know we have some kind of weird family bond here, and to be honest I don't know exactly what role I put you in. But, I do have parents and they're not you and Tessa. For all I know they're either dead, or didn't care enough to stick around to watch me grow up. And I can't help but feel that if I started calling you 'dad' I would be insulting someone; either my real dad because he died and there was nothing he could do about it and I just replaced him, or you. . . because my real dad's scum. And if that's the case, I don't want to put you in the same category as him."  
  
"If he's scum?"  
  
"Yeah. I know it's kinda stupid, but, I just can't."  
  
"Richie, I don't mind, either way," Duncan assured him.  
  
"Okay." Richie turned to leave.  
  
"And Rich?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"If you ever change your mind, you know in a couple hundred years or whenever. . . "  
  
Richie smiled. "I know."  
  
*July 9, 1998*  
  
Richie rolled over and put his arm around Rylan. In the rare silence of the MacLeod household he thought about all the fights and apologies he had had with Duncan over the years. He didn't know why he was thinking about that. . . maybe he was changing his mind about how he felt about Duncan. For some reason he kept hearing Duncan's words echoing in his head, 'I don't mind, either way. . . If you ever change your mind, you know in a couple hundred years or whenever. . .'  
  
"No," Rylan mumbled taking his arm off her and bringing him back to the present. "You're hot."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"No, I mean you're hot," she clarified sleepily. "Move."  
  
"I know what you mean, but I'm stronger than you so I don't care what you want." He wrapped both arms around her and squeezed.  
  
"Hey!" she squealed.  
  
"Getting a little warm?"  
  
"I will find a way to make your life hell if you don't let me go."  
  
"What are you going to do, tell Connor on me?"  
  
"I just might." She twisted in his arms.  
  
"Not interrupting am I?" Duncan asked. Rylan and Richie stopped fighting and looked at the door. Rylan laughed.  
  
"Does it count as de ja vouis if it really happened?"  
  
"Why not." Richie said sitting up.  
  
"Contemplate it while you get ready, you're leaving in an hour. And everyone wants to say good bye." Duncan said closing the door.  
  
Richie sighed and got out of bed. "I said it before and I'll say it again, four thirty is way too early for a plane to leave."  
  
"I didn't even know that there was a four thirty in the morning until today," Rylan commented watching Richie get dressed.  
  
"Aren't you going to get up?"  
  
"No. I have a theory I want to test out."  
  
"And what is this theory?"  
  
"That if I refuse to say good bye, you'll refuse to leave, then everyone will be happy."  
  
"I think there's one variable you forgot. . . Mac."  
  
"Ugh," she groaned. "You mean I actually have to get up? At three in the morning? Are you serious?"  
  
"If I can do it, you can do it. What do you think?" He held out his arms. He was wearing a blue oxford shirt and khakis.  
  
"Dang, if I didn't know it was you, I wouldn't know it was you. Very GQ," she smirked, "but I still don't like it."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Is that it?" Duncan asked loading the last of Richie's bags into the trunk.  
  
"That's it," Richie nodded.  
  
"Well, lad, are we ready?" Connor asked.  
  
"I don't think I'll ever be ready."  
  
"Me either. I'll miss you, Richie." Tessa threw her arms around Richie's neck.  
  
"It'll only be a couple months, Tessa."  
  
"A couple months too long. You always get into trouble when you're away from me."  
  
"Don't worry, Tessa, I'll take good care of the lad," Connor assured her. "No harm will come to him."  
  
"You listen to Connor, or you'll wish that you really had died," Duncan told Richie sternly.  
  
"Mac, I'm not a kid. I can take care of my- - -" Duncan raised his eyebrows. "Yes, sir," Richie said with a smirk.  
  
"I better not hear anything about you getting into trouble with the Watchers," Joe said.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Keep yourself out of trouble," Amanda said giving him a kiss. "Or at the very least don't get caught," she whispered in his ear.  
  
"Don't piss anyone off, kid," Adam said dryly.  
  
"I'll remember that," Richie laughed.  
  
"See you around, I guess," Rylan said awkwardly.  
  
"Yeah, guess so." He opened his arms slightly and she jumped into them. "Ry, I'll see you soon, I promise," He assured her.  
  
"Watch your head."  
  
"I will. Bye, Ry." He squeezed her one last time before letting go and buried his nose in her hair. . . apples, just like he had expected. Somehow she always smelled like apples.  
  
"Bye, Richie. . . uh, I guess it's Ryan know, huh?"  
  
Richie ran his fingers through his short cropped hair, "Yeah, guess so."  
  
"Time to go," Duncan said. "You don't want to miss the plane, Ryan."  
  
"I suppose not."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie settled into the uncomfortable airline seat. He was only an hour into the flight and he was already going out of his mind. Connor had already fallen asleep in the seat next to him. Richie sighed and looked out the window; he had never been able to sleep on planes. Resigning himself to hours of claustrophobia and more importantly utter boredom, he began digging through his carryon for something to distract himself with. He pulled out his CD player and opened it to see what he had been listening to last. Satisfied, he put on his headphones and hit play. Not one minute into the first song, he started fidgeting. Resisting the urge to scream just for the sake of doing something, he reached into his bag and pulled out what he thought was his copy of Huckleberry Finn.  
  
"Little Women?" He shrugged, "What the hell. . ." He opened it and found a note tucked inside the cover. It was addressed in Rylan's loopy handwriting to simply 'Rich'. Smiling he opened it and read.  
  
'Dear Richie-  
  
I knew you'd cave eventually. I really don't know what to say. But I know what I've said is not enough. I've never been away from you without being able to turn on MTV to see how you were doing. As I'm writing this I can't help but become incredibly sappy, so bare with me. All my life I've felt very lucky to have you around. You've done a lot of things for me over the years and I only wish there was a way for me to pay you back. Unfortunately, I can't write songs or poems or anything pretty like that. But I do know how to write in general so here I go.  
  
Always remember, no matter how many miles away from Seacouver, and no matter how many years from now you may be, you will always be Richie Ryan: named for Emily Ryan, son of Duncan and Tessa MacLeod. The street punk, the inept thief, the amazing boy who became an even more amazing man, the wonderful person that I had the great fortune of spending nearly everyday of my life with. You will always be my best friend, you will always be Richie Ryan, and I will always be you biggest and most loyal fan.  
  
Leaving nothing but love behind, and receiving nothing but love in return. Half a soul here, with the other half there, to be joined again when the time comes.  
  
Guess I do have a bit of a poet in me. Watch your head.  
  
Love, Rylan.' 


	11. End

*Tuesday, July 7, 1998*  
  
"Wow, now theses are some sexy boots." Richie picked up the knee high black leather boots.  
  
"I just got them," Rylan said pulling her new clothes out of the shopping bags. "This way I won't have to barrow Jen's when we go ridding."  
  
"Jen?"  
  
"My roommate, you know, the girl I've lived with nine months out of the year for the past three years."  
  
"Oh, Jen, gottcha. . . Ridding? As in. . ."  
  
"Horses. You know what a horse is, don't you?"  
  
"Since when do you ride horses?"  
  
"Since about three and a half years ago."  
  
"Three and a half. . . how did I miss that one?"  
  
"I think you were somewhere in Europe at the time." She started hanging shirts in the closet.  
  
"I really don't pay attention, do I?"  
  
Rylan laughed, "I've been telling you that for years."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes and started looking through the other bags. "So horses, huh? Isn't that a little scary?"  
  
"It was the first time, but as Jen pointed out, it's probably the safest thing I'll ever have between my legs."  
  
Richie smiled, "Ry, that's just wrong. . . Funny, but wrong."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*April 13, 2106*  
  
'Rylan Fisher  
  
February 24, 1976- November 5, 1998'  
  
Richie traced the words with his fingers. The morning he had left for Scotland had been the last time he had seen her. He was back in Seacouver for the first time since her funeral. He looked at the words carved at the bottom of the marker.  
  
'Leaving nothing but love behind, and receiving nothing but love in return. . .'  
  
"Half a soul here, with the other half there, to be joined again when the time comes," He whispered to himself, finishing the quote from the letter she had written him over a hundred years ago. "Safest thing you'll ever have between your legs, huh?" He asked the grave. "Until they buck you off." He put the fresh daisies in front of the stone. "I miss you, Ry. Say hi to Tessa for me. And I know 'What you're head'." A soft breeze blew as he left the graveyard, he could almost swear he smelled apples.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie closed the door behind him and didn't bother to turn on the lights. This way he wouldn't have to look at the mess he would be cleaning up in the morning. Nobody had been in the store for over fifty years; the relater cut Richie a great deal on the property when he explained his grandfather had grown up there. If he closed his eyes he could still hear bagpipes coming from the office. . .  
  
Duncan had nearly choked on his fish when Richie told him he was moving back to Seacouver and he had bought the Antique store.  
  
"Hey, you moved back to Scotland, why shouldn't I go back to Washington?" Richie had defended.  
  
And there was something about the Antique store. . . the loft above it had been home for two years, he had lived a lot of places before and even more places since, but this was the first 'home' he had had. The memories there were so strong; it felt like just yesterday he had been there claiming to have been abducted by aliens to get Randi McFalren to leave them alone, just yesterday that he had sung to Duncan and Tessa for the first time, just yesterday that he had broken a two thousand year old vase while fencing with Rylan in the store.  
  
He smiled to himself and walked over to the second window on the right and placed his palm on the bottom pane.  
  
"Check it out," he breathed. "One night only, everything must go."  
  
His memory transported him back 114 years. He could see his seventeen-year-old self putting antique goblets into a duffel bag. He was about to leave when something caught his eye, a sword displayed in a glass case. His gut told him to leave, but something called him to the sword. He couldn't resist taking it out. The boy grinned to himself and held the blade up to a statue.  
  
"En garde, you fool."  
  
"I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."  
  
Seventeen year old Richie whirled around with the sword still in his hands and faced Duncan. "Whoa, dude chill, I rip of a couple bowls and a cup, I'm sorry all right? It's over."  
  
"It's not over until I cut off your head."  
  
Shaking his head and laughing to himself Richie headed up the stairs. . . if only he had know how prophetic Duncan had been the night they first met. Maybe he would have stayed away; maybe he would have avoided trouble, maybe. . . But all in all what he had gotten from Duncan and Tessa had been exactly what he had needed: a home, a job, a second chance, a good life, and most importantly. . . parents. 


End file.
